I didn’t know where to turn, whom to talk to. She was who I shared my every intimate fear. She was who I turned to when I was hurt, confused. But she was the cause of it all.
She just sat there, in her car. Doing god knows what, me sitting quietly on the couch waiting for her to go somewhere. Inside, home, to her next fuck—anywhere.
When I couldn’t take it anymore—being a prisoner in my mind, my home—I simply left. I walked past her car, got into mine and left. I tried not to look at her, as I crossed in front of her little blue car. Out of the corner of my eye I could see her talking on the phone. Probably to the next one.
Her safety net.
She was mine, so why wouldn’t she have one for herself…or two or three…
I got in my car, and drove away. To nowhere. Where could I go? She was the one I turned to. I lost my friends for her. I couldn’t turn to anyone I ever trusted without an “I told you so” overshadowing any true actual insight.
But before she was the one, I turned to her. That is, before I turned my back on her.
I didn’t know where to go, so I simply went home.